


My Winter Rose

by DameRuth



Series: Flowers [15]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Lovers' gifts, M/M, Memories, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: It's Valentine's Day in the Flowers!verse, and Jack finds an unexpected surprise in his office.[Continuing the Teaspoon imports, originally posted 2008.01.11.]
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Ninth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Series: Flowers [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14017
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	My Winter Rose

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a hard time shaking the midwinter "melon collies," as my dad calls them -- which means that any little story fragments circulating through my brain are likely to come via the Flowers!verse. However, that doesn't preclude a touch of fluff . . .

By sheer spinal reflex, when Jack and Ianto returned to the Hub that night after a pleasant Valentine's Day dinner, they separated to make a quick check of the various monitoring systems. They'd made it all the way through dessert and Jack's pager hadn't gone off, wonder of wonders, but just in case something more subtle was in the works it never hurt to check up. Working for Torchwood encouraged a certain suspicion of overly-peaceful circumstances.  
  
Still, it had been nice to get out for a while. The Director of Torchwood Three drew a decent wage (though nowhere near enough for what was involved in the job) and given Jack's rather ascetic lifestyle, he'd built up an impressive bank account. Most of the time he was only peripherally aware of such things any more, but he'd enjoyed having an excuse to take a little of that built-up income and use it to treat someone else to a genuinely high-class night out. He'd even offered a room at a posh hotel to round things off, but Ianto (looking heart-meltingly embarrassed for a moment) had glanced down and mumbled something about the Hub being more comfortable. Given that it manifestly was not, Jack hoped Ianto had said so for sentimental reasons rather than embarrassment over the extravagance. Sometimes he was frustratingly hard to read, especially since someone so young shouldn't be able to fool someone Jack's age. At least, one might hope that.  
  
Jack's last stop was his office, to see if any urgent messages had somehow bypassed his pager. He rounded the corner of his desk, loosening the knot of his tie as he did so, and stopped dead when he saw what was on his computer keyboard. A yellow post-it note, and something small that glittered like a piece of ice.  
  
Jack approached cautiously. He knew for a fact there were no yellow post-its in the Hub. A few months back Ianto, cruising whatever arcane office supply sources he favored, had found what he declared to be an outrageously good price on an enormous box of neon-green post-its. The team had been working their way through a crate of them ever since. Owen had even started whinging about sticky notes the color of alien snot -- to the point where the good doctor had come in one morning to find his workspace entirely papered with them. He'd spent the better part of twenty minutes cursing and plucking offending bits of paper from every possible surface -- while Gwen and Tosh giggled uncontrollably in the background, Ianto muttered under his breath about the waste, and Jack bit his lip and pretended not to notice any of it.  
  
Ergo, a yellow post-it had arrived on Jack's desk from an outside source without tripping any of the Hub's security sensors. That meant that there was either nothing to worry about -- or a great deal to worry about. Jack, knowing one likely source of yellow sticky notes, was inclined to think (or at least hope) the former.  
  
He stopped and studied the little still-life for a moment, without reaching to touch anything. A few lines of verse were written on the post-it, in a familiar -- downright unmistakable -- hand. He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in, and picked up what lay next to the note.  
  
It was a crystal cabochon, unset, the surface carved into a relief of a blooming rose. Jack felt a deep twinge in his ribcage as he recognized the meaning of what he held.  
  
In the fifty-first century, a piece of jewelery set with a carved rose was a token of affection given to lovers. It was a small, formal gesture, something that indicated more than casual regard while remaining relatively noncommittal. There was no precise correlation in the twenty-first century that Jack was aware of. In his life, he'd given away only two roses -- the last to a certain former shop girl.  
  
\--  
  
He'd found the necklace -- a pink coral rose in a plain gold setting, on a fine golden chain -- in one of the many random bazaars they'd visited during his time on the TARDIS. The Doctor had a great fondness for rummaging through secondhand shops and marketplaces, delighting in the odd and unexpected things he might find . . . and since Jack had a matching fondness, he'd enjoyed tagging along.  
  
He purchased the coral necklace on a spur-of-the moment whim. It was inexpensive and pretty, and matched both Rose's name and the traditions of his own time. It seemed too appropriate to pass up. Rose and the Doctor were a few booths ahead of him at that point, so he'd slipped the necklace in his jeans pocket and given it to her as a surprise when they returned to the TARDIS.  
  
Rose had been so pleased by the little gift that Jack found himself explaining the custom to her, though he hadn't originally intended to. He'd been startled by how suddenly tongue-tied and clumsy he felt, looking into her young, shining face. She made _him_ feel young again, and shy in a way he hadn't been for decades.  
  
She'd taken in his slightly awkward explanation, and then with typical expressiveness had pounced on him and hugged him, hard. "Thank you," she mumbled into his chest, followed by a suspicious sniffle.  
  
Jack kissed her temple in reply, catching sight of the Doctor leaning casually in the doorway. The Time Lord's expression was complex -- dry and affectionate at once, watching the very domestic little scene in front of him with distant blue eyes. At the time, Jack got the impression that the Doctor found the whole thing ridiculously human and sentimental.  
  
But he'd been smiling.  
  
\--  
  
Jack held the crystal rose -- the size of his thumbnail -- up to the light. Natural quartz, from the look of the faint inclusions. Probably less expensive than a good quality synthetic stone, actually, though natural stone was considered more symbolically appropriate for a rose token. It was unusual to give a token without a setting, but then Jack wasn't exactly the jewelry-wearing type, and the Doctor would know that.  
  
He rested the rose on the tip of his index finger, and ran his thumb over the smooth, bumpy texture of the carving. It was a strange gift, even inappropriate. Rose tokens, like poetry, were for young people just starting to pair off: dewy-eyed youths and blushing girls, not two bitter, wounded old men with more dried blood on their hands than either liked to remember.  
  
Jack had given two roses, but never received one -- until now.  
  
The sensation that knowledge gave him was odd; he couldn't even put a name to it. A warm feeling, if a little painful. _Never too late, I guess . . ._ he thought, and then couldn't resist a lopsided grin. _And since when did either of us do things the way they're_ supposed _to be done?_  
  
He closed the token in his fist, and reached for the note. Just four lines, no introduction:  
  
_For he loves the crystal, the ice and the frost  
And finds all the secrets that others have lost  
And when deep in silence no common flower grows  
It's there I find blooming my one winter rose._  
  
There was no signature, but there was a small glyph that Jack recognized. It was a symbol used in time travel flowcharts and four-dimensional maps in the fifty-first century. It expressed a point "downstream" in time, a future direction from the relative present. Jack had no problem translating its meaning in this context.  
  
_Later._  
  
" . . . everything seems okay out there," Ianto said cheerfully, speaking as he entered Jack's office. "I think we're . . ." He broke off when he saw the post-it in Jack's hand. His eyebrows went up, and his face settled into more serious lines. "Something urgent come up, sir?" he asked, hovering at the edge of on-duty mode.  
  
Jack opened a drawer and dropped the rose and the note inside. He closed it, gently, and gave Ianto the benefit of one of his more charmingly seductive smiles.  
  
"No," he said, stepping around his desk. "Nothing that can't wait."  
  
\----------  
  
_Post-story A/N: The verse quoted is from Meg Davis' song "My Winter Rose," from her_ [Captain Jack and the Mermaid](http://megdavis.com/captainjack.html) _album. It is, I think, a perfect "theme song" for the Ten/Jack relationship in the Flowers!verse._  
  


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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=18372>


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